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梦幻海豚真神奇最后跟贴： xiaocat 发表于 2014-8-10 12:28 lz连发3篇让人摸不着头脑的东西？什么情况？此乃参观“海洋世界公园”的一些感受，可能水平有限，词不达意，望多指教！最后发表：中西	中西 2014-8-10 12:02	21423	中西 2014-8-11 09:10
朝曦最后跟贴：蚝姐发表于 2014-8-10 14:43 不敢不敢本来想说发到读书版就好了，有知音文无定法，境遇各异，横岭竖峰，各抒己见，能有领教，幸甚！最后发表：中西	中西 2014-8-9 09:04	81742	中西 2014-8-11 09:07
海狮表演真有趣最后跟贴：海狮表演真有趣 ——海洋公园海狮警长奇趣表演训者海狮扮角色，演绎故事真配合；憨态可掬令捧腹；共享自然长和乐。最后发表：中西	中西 2014-8-10 13:24	01139	中西 2014-8-10 13:24
水上摩托特技秀最后跟贴：水上摩托特技秀 ——海洋公园摩托特技表演群摩出场震龙宫，腾空入海显奇功；连续滚翻逞英雄，个个绝技显神通。最后发表：中西	中西 2014-8-10 13:22	01031	中西 2014-8-10 13:22
海狮表演真有趣最后跟贴：海狮表演真有趣 ——海洋公园海狮警长奇趣表演训者海狮扮角色，演绎故事真配合；憨态可掬令捧腹；共享自然长和乐。最后发表：中西	中西 2014-8-10 12:01	01129	中西 2014-8-10 12:01
男子汉最后跟贴：哥哥爸爸去打仗，不是打麻将。最后发表：sunnykelly	中西 2014-8-8 19:25	11331	sunnykelly 2014-8-9 05:10
一个国家的兴起---澳洲史话(ZT) 最后跟贴：great material, good read! thx for sharing 最后发表：jolvmi ...2 3	tonyy 2010-2-9 01:38	8310656	jolvmi 2014-8-8 14:52
最近在看的连载《长篇宫廷评话》最后跟贴：大千。最后发表：pink_maomao	maya 2014-8-5 15:30	11497	pink_maomao 2014-8-5 15:49
给朋友推荐的好书《李自成》《穆斯林的葬礼》《希望永行》最后跟贴：谢谢分享最后发表：Ayuki ...2	平凡的世界 2014-6-22 21:03	534968	Ayuki 2014-8-4 20:58
我们被那些断章取义的名言警句，欺骗了多少年？！最后跟贴：谢谢分享最后发表：Ayuki	LEOZHU 2014-7-25 15:01	142268	Ayuki 2014-8-4 20:57
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (54)天堂之影最后跟贴：谢谢分享最后发表：Ayuki	何木 2014-8-4 13:32	21520	Ayuki 2014-8-4 20:57
参加活动：my "top 5" books 最后跟贴：我只看过活着最后发表：thh100	luoyaya 2013-10-13 19:15	61803	thh100 2014-8-4 11:05
免费听书 Anne of Green Gables 最后跟贴：虽然续集也很好，我最喜欢的还是Anne of Green Gables. 最后发表：cerinahe	cerinahe 2014-7-25 23:36	101609	cerinahe 2014-8-3 18:50
推荐一本书《菊与刀》最后跟贴：正在看，日本有很多值得中国学习最后发表：luoyaya	sherry597 2014-4-28 00:16	142106	luoyaya 2014-8-2 20:12
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(53)天堂之影最后跟贴：何木发表于 2014-8-1 11:25 洋八路生病了，不知道能活多久，现在起由何木代言。。呵呵，你这么幽默。。最后发表：Gone	何木 2014-7-30 09:46	31597	Gone 2014-8-1 14:08
有看古言的朋友进来最后跟贴：推荐余华、阿城、汪曾褀的作品，您一定喜欢。最后发表：LEOZHU	Jenny2012 2014-7-31 19:53	11501	LEOZHU 2014-7-31 21:15
民间故事 -> 农妇巧对浪秀才最后跟贴：汉字奥妙无穷！最后发表：中西	sln162 2014-6-2 19:52	122321	中西 2014-7-31 13:28
我为什么不想当英雄呢？——南怀瑾先生的幽默最后跟贴：引的这一段，有北曲的风范，与“那里讨，烟蓑雨笠卷单行？一任俺，芒鞋破钵随缘化”有异曲同工之妙！最后发表：scorpionzn	LEOZHU 2014-7-28 15:47	11577	scorpionzn 2014-7-29 12:54
小诗自娱（四）最后跟贴：近日最后发表：虞宅与美丽 ...2	方白 2014-6-1 15:43	555030	虞宅与美丽 2014-7-28 22:42
Torts - 民事诉讼最后跟贴：关于离婚财产分配的若干问题申请法庭的裁决是一个漫长，痛苦，烧钱的过程。如果你是有‘就算自己拿不到一分钱，也不要你拿到。’那在一系列的协调后，那就上厅吧。 1 家庭的定义（family）家庭的定义非常有争议性。各州立法不同，近年的立法着重于成员的功能（function）,不再纠结于成员的性别，这位同性婚姻的离婚提供了法庭裁决的授权。 2 财产定义的几点问题 2.1 法庭对于财产（property）一般采用较宽泛的解读。财产不单指不动产，现金，股权。还包括养老金，redundancy and long service leave entitlements. 2.2 可以预见的未来收入：如果在未来的几年中，其中一方有确定的收入，这部分收入也要计入裁决。比方说A方还有两年退休，可以领取退休金(superannuation). 那这笔钱也要计算在财产之内。 2.3 财产与何时获取，怎样获取无关。这就是说没有婚前，婚后一说。 2.4 财产评估由专业人士进行。（费钱呀！） 2.5 财产包括欠债。 3 家庭成员对财产贡献的评估 3.1 结婚住房 3.1.1 首付很重要。哪一方付的首付，在短期婚姻结束后，那一方在婚房分配中占绝大部分 3.1.2 对婚房的贡献还包括还房贷，房子的日常维护（比如雨水管，花园的维修清理费用）房子的装修费用。 3.2 间接贡献虽然通常的规定是彩票的归属是属于彩票上姓名的拥有者。但夫妻一方买的彩票，一直是被认为是夫妻双方共同买的夫妻中一方父母给夫妻的钱，通常被认为是属于父母孩子那一方对家庭财产做出的贡献。在一，两年的短期婚姻中，一般可以大部追回。 3.3 间接家庭职责的贡献这一般用于一方工作，一方在家从事家务。从事家务的一方对家庭是有不可忽略的贡献。在评估中，一般会认为贡献在百分之三十左右。对于长期婚姻，在考虑婚房的裁决时，这一贡献一般以百分之五十为起点。从事家务的质量，和另一方工作的联系性是考虑的重要因素。最后发表：测量仪	测量仪 2014-2-7 20:26	62049	测量仪 2014-7-27 18:25
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (52)天堂之影最后跟贴：洋八路发表于 2014-7-25 23:06 Chapter 52 2/3 Chapter 52 3/3 Without completely halting his pace, he reached forward to catch her hand. An instant of fear and wariness seemed to hinder a second of his approach, but the feeling of her fingers in his hand was too delicious to give up. She stopped, and turned to him; but thanking paradise she didn’t pull her hand away, nor did she utter any reprimand to thwart his impertinence. She raised her face to him, turned her face to his, keeping a thin gap for a timeless time. Then feeling safe and detecting no signs of alarm, he placed his other hand on her broad forehead, gently brushing it twice before sliding it to her right ear and there it remained. Then she took her hand from his, and as if immersed in a flood of unanticipated passion, lifted both of her arms to wrap around his neck. His lips sought hers; the thin distance between them vanishing. And tipping her head sightly over, he tasted her edges and soft thickness. Her tongue, like a fire, in the little damp haven, had its own mind; it looked to search, to pity, to pass her sorrow and loneliness to him, to also receive his. The sweet-sour-bitter-spice of a living experience in a place far away from their home country was condensed in the minutes of their mouths’ exchange. He was fumbling with her ponytail, soft and sleek, full and substantial. But the knot of the rubber band was stiff and strong, as severe as his full arousal. With his hard chest cushioned by her breasts, and his swift breath stifled by her warm features, they stood long in the middle of the tunnel, until the strain was gathering in his legs and thighs. They moved for the support of the wall, where, with his back leaning against the concrete, their interaction went on unflaggingly. But his more daring penetration towards her three points had been frequently hushed and pushed away, until he was fully aware of her steely resolve of refusing to budge. ‘No,’ she heaved, ‘please.’ But he tried again, and she said ‘No’ and ‘Please’ again. ‘Please’ uttered after ‘no’ was a confusing signal to him, but her gesture bespoke a definite ‘No’. Then, he heard people entering the tunnel; judging by their voices, they were two male students, probably just coming back from their dish-washing night shift. They came to near them, for a moment petrifying them, who had buried their heads into each other’s neck, until the nuisance was gone, until the tunnel was returned to them. But the disturbance, as well as her denial to his more meaningful intercourse, calmed him down. With a final kiss that bade for departure, they straightened, and holding each other’s waist, left the place that had hosted his first romance in Australia. Beside her car, on the pavement, he held her. ‘When can I see you again?’ he looked into her eyes, his hands caressing the line of her waist. She checked his gaze, and said: ‘No.’ Her short, one-syllable answer seemed to have taken a long time to reach his intoxicated head. Baffled, and bristled as if very much offended, he was questing for clarification, ‘What?’ Then emphasizing his incredulity, ‘Why?’ ‘You should have known this,’ she said, patronizingly. ‘No good can come from it.’ Though muddled and unsatisfied just the same, he seemed to catch a sober light of sense. Without finding more words to say, he loosened her, who seemed to have all at once turned back into a remote stranger to him. Seeing his disappointment, she held his hands to placate him. ‘Look, Wang Bing, we can be friends, but anything more than that would sour our friendship,’ and now keeping an arm’s length from him, she went on her dogma of morality, in her mature and sensible manner, and with her breasts distending under her clothes, ‘and if we continue to see each other, I don’t think we can control ourselves, so the best way is…’ ‘But, well, this is ridiculous,’ he cut her words, as a blood of nameless resentment was then surging to his head, rendering him utterly beside himself. ‘This is absurd, why, in the name of Chinese, in the name of Buddha, and…and…in the name of thousands of evolution and civilization of mankind, does the good time you and I are here to share have to be denied and deprived…by whom? By what kind of devil and hell? By what kind of false and pathetic temple figures and phantoms and doctrines?’ ‘Haha…’ she blurted out a laughter, but immediately resisted it by pressing her lips hard enough together not to show him offence; and subsiding, she threw him a remark, ‘Oily mouth.’ Staring at her, managing his evil emotion of which he had now come to be aware of, he opened a sad smile, ‘Sorry…’ ‘That is all right,’ she said. ‘Frankly, I may divorce him sooner or later. We have been thinking of our permanent separation as hard as of our eventual reunion. But, you see, you are different, you won’t likely be in the same boat as me.’ Upon her cool words, that had somehow called for his wife’s image to flash in his eyes, his heightened, ballooned sexual spirit was as if pricked, retreating, flattening out. Yet standing there fairly wretched, he experienced no relief but a feeling of desertion, of betrayal to his masculinity. He wanted to escape immediately from her, from the mere sight of her, who had aroused him and then smothered him and sickened him by her great sense and reason and discretion. Finally, in a low and half hateful voice, he said, ‘Okay, I understand.’ Then in his effort to be polite and like a gentleman, he put on a smile that must be more like a grimace. ‘Are you okay to drive?’ She didn’t give an answer; and seconds later, she pleaded, ‘Please, don’t be upset.’ Then, patting his arm like an elder sister, ‘You are not angry with me, are you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Do you want to hear the truth?’ ‘What?’ ‘If I give myself to you, I want all of you,’ she raised her voice as though she was the one, not him, being victimized. ‘But you won’t be all for me. Sooner or later, you will leave me for your wife, and my life will be ruined, worse off. Do you understand?’ Again he was speechless. He looked at her; and in her still, loving gaze, his self-pity was gradually transformed to a sort of compassion for her. But he felt too weak to touch her, then in a similar manner as she had done a while earlier in the subway, she threw out her arms, wrapped around his neck, pulled him down towards her bosom, kissed him soundly, once on his lips, once on his cheek. ‘Wang Bing, thank you,’ she said, and releasing him, she turned and walked round her car to the driver’s side. She opened it, slipped into it, closed it, started it, made a U turn, and gave him a gesture of goodbye through the window; she was then, officially, leaving. He was stationed on the spot, seeing her car diminishing until she turned into Station Street and, with its tail lights flicking for the last time, was perfectly lost. He thought he had at least lifted his hand and waved her a goodbye with it; but, after she was gone, when he began moving to his home for settlement, he realized that, during all the while of her pulling off, his hands had remained limb and floppy. ‘A strange woman,’ he muttered. --End of Chapter 52-- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-7-25 23:05	21982	洋八路 2014-7-25 23:07
小故事，大道理最后跟贴： cherry_melody 发表于 2014-7-25 11:30 故事七没看懂。就是说别死心眼儿，鼓励顺手牵羊最后发表：蚝姐	天涯海角2 2014-7-25 11:19	31450	蚝姐 2014-7-25 11:36
季节是个小女人最后跟贴：谢谢分享。原创作品可以发在读书版，或者心情感悟版块，我帮您移动下。最后发表：虞宅与美丽	279041997 2014-7-24 21:33	31477	虞宅与美丽 2014-7-25 11:12
介绍一本介绍藏传佛教和寺庙的好书《西藏的寺与僧》最后跟贴：本帖最后由 LEOZHU 于 2014-7-22 21:26 编辑 autrant 发表于 2014-7-22 20:34 个人意见，如果那段描写放在文革时期我觉得还是比较恰当的，但是在解放西藏的时候，我觉得是有些过了，那 ... 您了解歷史不足夠，再多了解些就知道了。最后发表：LEOZHU	autrant 2014-6-19 11:49	121825	LEOZHU 2014-7-22 21:24
大家都去哪里买电子书KINDLE 最后跟贴：日本代购，淘宝。。。最后发表：上班ing	vivifeng2000 2014-7-22 14:55	11369	上班ing 2014-7-22 15:11
A Thousand Splendid Suns 最后跟贴：几年前看过不错，帮助了解历史文化其实看了这本书后，我觉得阿富汗的穷人比中国偏远地区的穷人生活质量还强些最后发表：pangpang	Micky2013 2014-5-19 14:00	41543	pangpang 2014-7-22 13:07
胡适的那些事儿——818中国公知祖师爷胡适之(ZT) 最后跟贴：最后发表：Ayuki	gary.smith 2014-6-18 10:28	212919	Ayuki 2014-7-20 23:41
转贴：我为什么不喜欢林徽因最后跟贴：不错~ 最后发表：Ayuki ...2 3 4 5 6..7	Wangmingtaoau 2013-10-4 09:28	20728453	Ayuki 2014-7-20 16:18
李安：这世界上唯一扛得住岁月摧残的就是才华最后跟贴：说得好~ 最后发表：Ayuki	天涯海角2 2014-7-18 10:48	21726	Ayuki 2014-7-20 16:16
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(49)天堂之影最后跟贴：感谢分享最后发表：Plim	洋八路 2014-7-4 19:20	81869	Plim 2014-7-19 13:27
推荐易读有趣英文书最后跟贴：感谢分享最后发表：Plim	deanna_6768 2014-6-13 15:46	41887	Plim 2014-7-19 13:19
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(51)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 51 In the late afternoon of a Sunday, after spending time in the library on his assignment, Bing came across Susan. She was sitting alone on one of the benches in the open ground featuring the water pools. It was indeed a surprise, a profound disbelief that he had not have seen her since their parting two years before in the bus station at Box Hill. He had expected to run into three of his first roommates almost every day, or at least once a week because of the fact they were at the same university, sharing the same library as well as those remarkable lecture theatres. But dismal as what had been, he had never had a glimpse of any of them. ‘Hi, Susan,’ he called immediately and delightedly. Surprised and alarmed, she raised her head a little bewildered, ‘Ah, you …’ she fumbled for words, ‘sorry, I forget your name, but I remember you.’ ‘No, you haven’t forgotten my name, because I have no name,’ Bing laughed gleefully. ‘Why does a person need a name so long as he can be remembered.’ ‘Haha, yes, you are Wang, Wang Teacher,’ Susan smiled, not forgetting to touch her glasses. ‘It has been a long time. How have you been?’ ‘Not too bad, not too bad, hehe, like you, still alive in the country.’ … From her, he heard that the other two, David and Mei, had moved to Box Hill and Mont Albert respectively. She had their addresses, but had never visited them, and during the last two years she had only met them separately a couple of times. She herself was living in a flat in Glen Waverley with her classmates. Although she was currently unemployed, Susan had had a number of jobs, as a cleaner, a waitress, a worker in a garment factory, and her last, a helper in a bread shop. With the range of experience she had accumulated in this period it wouldn’t be difficult for her to get another job, but finding anything better in terms of wages and working conditions was still painstaking. ‘I could help you if you’d like to be a waitress in Chinatown,’ he said, after the idea came to him, ‘the restaurant I work in has a high waitress turnover.’ ‘Oh, really? Could you?’ Gladness and hopefulness were apparent in her voice. ‘I am okay, so long as it is stable, and the boss is kind.’ ‘Well, I don’t think the boss of the restaurant has the sort of kindness you would appreciate,’ he said easily, ‘but, hehe, I will be your supervisor if you work there.’ ‘Wonderful,’ she made a grand remark, as if she had already secured the job. ‘Look, Susan, I will look into it and let you know when a vacancy is available.’ He wanted to cool her enthusiasm, ‘in the meantime, keep on looking by your own means.’ The day was turning to dusk. Bing suggested having supper together somewhere. But the bus schedule was not agreeable on Sunday evenings. So they exchanged contact details, promising to keep in touch, and departed to their respective residence. A few days later, he called her and asked her to start to work in the restaurant the next day if she could. So Susan became a waitress, most of the time under his supervision. And one week later, she moved to his flat in Box Hill, living together with the two girls in the girl’s room. The boys in the flat suspected Susan was his girlfriend, and teased him when the girls were not around, ‘Wang Teacher, maybe we need to make a room exclusively for you and Susan…’ ‘Haha, no need to complicate that, I can always go straight into her room at night, and promise never to disturb the rest of you,’ he returned playfully. But Jessica, the girl who had once shown a certain interest in him, seemed to be a little upset, often managing a cold face to him as well as to Susan, to his best understanding of jealousy. It was true that, when he and Susan chanced to go home together late in the night, very tired and worn out, she once or twice rested her head over his shoulder, and he would fondle her hair and her eyebrows, when his desire to kiss her or even to make love to her was momentarily real and evident by his then palpitating heart. But he knew he was treating her more like a younger sister, someone weak and vulnerable needing protection in the wilderness of the world. He had never kissed her, and she seemed to understand him, with her shy and half-disappointed smile on those moments. They were two individuals, drifting in a tide to a fateful junction, where they happened to meet, sharing warmth as a pair of good country-fellows would do. Another term passed, and he was in the last semester of his three-year IT course. The light at the end of tunnel seemed to be glowing, for in about six months, as soon as he obtained his degree, he would, like most graduates, lodge his application for immigration. Three key criteria, English, Age and Skilled occupation, would then be in his favour. During this period, when the prospect of living permanently in the country came to light more frequently than ever, so did the image of his wife visit his mind. Indeed, as they had agreed prior to his departure, he should have tried to get her over to live with him through a Student Dependent Visa, but because he had never felt settled and secure enough in the place, and also because she had not mentioned this matter during their monthly phone calls, his former promise, as if forgotten by both of them, had not found a practical way or a definite time to be honoured. In his absence, she stayed with her parents, and once tried to run a small business selling clothes with her friends, but closed it after losing some money. He had asked her to study English as hard as she could, but he didn’t believe she could achieve much with it. But it wouldn’t matter, for, she would learn it here in Australia. Also, in time she would bear him a child, and be fairly occupied with motherhood. Walking towards the station in a Saturday afternoon, his imagining of his future life in the country was as sweet and angelic as the beautiful sunshine. When at the moment, two horses, pulling a cart with a number of jubilant tourists, hoofing and knocking the ground in Swanston Street, came in his direction, his heart was flying with a sudden joy. In his vision, sitting in the cart, were he and Qiuyan, and their new-born baby, and yes, his sister, his mum and dad… It was such a beautiful city; the happiness was too much as yet to speculate upon. But then, as he strolled on, he saw the old man unexpectedly in this part of street. Since the time he had sat with him and went through the entire Er-Quan Ying Yue, he had become his friend, and every now and then, he would donate some dollars to his performance. Nearing him, he paused and waited until he had finished playing his piece. ‘Nihao,’ he caught his attention, ‘Mr. Zhang, how have you moved here.’ ‘Oh, it is you, Mr. Wang,’ he lifted his head, putting aside his Erhu, ‘this is also my usual spot.’ ‘I see,’ he was curious, ‘how many usual spots do you have?’ ‘Three,’ he answered. ‘I will go to a place depending on the traffic, and also by judging the distance to other buskers in the street.’ ‘Buskers?’ the word was unfamiliar to him; it sounded like ‘baskets’, but he could tell the difference. ‘What are buskers?’ ‘A busker is a person like me in the street, playing music or singing songs, or juggling, to make fun for the public, even making a living by donations.’ For a quick moment, the scene in Mianyang, where a monkey-man entertained the public with two monkeys making love, came back to his mind. Chuckling inwardly, he said, ‘Haha, I didn’t know there was a special word for this; in Chinese, it is Jie Tou Mai Yi, selling art in the street, isn’t it?’ ‘Sort of, but here they say busking,’ ‘So, you are a busker,’ Bing was highly amused, ‘busking your Erhu for a basket of money in the street.’ ‘Haha,’ the man, sipping his tea, was undoubtedly at his most joyous moments of the day. Bing said goodbye to him. On the train, he gazed out of the window, seeing and enjoying common things along the railway. Then, he suddenly missed his guitar. How long since he had touched it? Whimsically he opened his palm and began to examine it. The lines and networks, much entwined and complicated, were as distinct as ever, but the flesh was thicker, the skin harder. He touched them, fingered and loved them alternatively with each other, as if testing their toughness and strength, as if recalling the tenderness and delicacy that had once caressed his soul through music. A thought drifted to him, clear and potent. ‘Why couldn’t I play again?’ and the idea marched a mile further, ‘I might even busk in the street, like Old Zhang.’ Instantly he subdued the idea of busking, before rejecting it altogether. That was too much to imagine. However, he decided to buy a guitar to resume his old-time hobby. Looking at the bright sky, it was still early enough for this Saturday. He got off at next station, and took a train back to the city. He didn’t know where he could find music shops; he just wandered about the streets, thinking he would eventually run into one of them so long as he didn’t overlap his route. In Burke Street, he found the shop. Most of the guitars were electric ones. In the end, he chose a classic guitar, similar to what he used to play, plus a bag and a strap, which cost a total of $129. Back on the train, with the guitar snuggled on his breast, the comfort, content and emotion, were indescribable. He imagined it was like a mother cuddling the child she had lost and found. But rather than a turbulence or an outburst of sentimentality, it was a peace, a moment of tranquillity, a feeling of what he believed to be a kind of happiness transcending a living experience. No wonder that Ar Bing and the Chinese busker Mr. Zhang had regarded the Erhu as a device of their truer lives, as an agent, as a representative of their souls, for without the instrument, life was perhaps a dreary repetition, meaningless, like a rat running in a wheel, like a sky never visited by stars and the moon. Then, he wondered, ironically, what his soul had become in the years in Australia. Had his life in the period been meaningless? And in terms of ‘value’ and ‘worthiness’ of life, had his life become better, richer and thicker, like the texture of his hands? What would have been the difference if he had not come to this country, and instead stayed at the foot of Emei Mountain and continued his teaching and played his role as a husband or even already a father in the cosiness of a family? Of course, he had seen more, experienced and endured more, in a place that was civilized so differently in many ways from his original country. But had he been happy or happier if thus compared to what he could have felt back in China? Had he smiled or laughed or entertained more here than there? Admittedly and undoubtedly, his life was enriched with a lot of new things, but whether it was better, or happier he really didn’t know. However, a number of things were certain: he had to be very conservative when enjoying beer; he had never touched his guitar during his struggle of staying alive in the country; there had been no sexual activity involving women. On impulse, he tightened his grip on the guitar, like holding a woman’s slender neck and rounded body. Heaving a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, and for the rest of the trip kept his posture unchanged, though, inwardly, a stream of blood, warm and live and alluring, seemed to course and stir his organs and his groin; his penis suffered restlessly under the guitar’s pressure. So from this day on, his everyday life, embodied in the number of hours, was partly allotted to his old hobby. A couple of weeks were all he had needed to recover his skills. He used any available timeslots he could find between his study and work; he practised at home, sometimes walking a long way to the Box Hill Gardens to pass luxurious hours of leisure, in the midst of the greenness and breeze and shades and children’s laughter, which he had often fancied as a sort of living paradise, especially after a couple of drinks. For the most part, he still played the set of classics he had played before, but would sing one or two songs on some occasions, such as when his roommate reached his birthday to celebrate the loss of a year, or the gain of a year if one thinks life is an endless line of sand outflowing from an hourglass. Then more people at Deakin discovered his guitar skills, and more celebrations demanded his contribution. His old days of campus glory seemed to have come back; his fellow Chinese, very nostalgic and sentimental and poetic as they could sometimes be, were rather generous in offering him applause as well as drinks. Then he began to toy with the idea of performing as a busker, who, to his Chinese, conservative way of thinking, was more or less a beggar. It certainly required the kind of gut-power he never thought he possessed. But Mr. Zhang encouraged him passionately, agreeing to stay nearby where he could see him and give him eye-contact support. Well, he might try just once. On the day, sitting beside Mr. Zhang, he gulped down two bottles of VB. However, just as he was about to move to the designated spot, his courage faltered, a nagging cowardice inflicting his mind. ‘Why? I don’t have to do this. Why should you invent this, behaving like a beggar in the street, in a country not your own? Is there nothing else you could do?’ ‘Hehe…’ he hesitated, mumbling uncertainly to the man, ‘…maybe, well, it is just a fancy idea.’ ‘So you are still scared?’ said Mr. Zhang, sipping his tea. ‘There is always a first time, like giving the first lesson as a teacher.’ ‘But, this is very different from the stage fright,’ he said; a conflict seemed to split his interior, reminding him of his job-seeking experience. ‘It is almost like begging, people throwing coins to me…’ he was about to say like bones being hurled at a dog, but trailed it off. ‘Well, it is just another kind of performance, you only need to see the pedestrians as your audience. And you know better that, when you play, you tend to play to yourself, talk to your own heart.’ He looked at Bing humorously, his hand holding the tea bottle half way to his lips that seemed to be forever parched and dry. ‘Of course, you don’t have to.’ The battle continued, and Bing couldn’t pluck his feet away from the territory belonging to his friend. Then, suddenly, Mr. Zhang said, ‘Why not just play here, in my place? Treat me as your only listener, won’t you?’ To his new proposal Bing laughed at once, the first free laughter since daybreak. In the meantime, Zhang began to move his gear aside, leaving his space and stool, sweeping all the coins and notes on the cloth into his bag. ‘Let’s see how many coins you can get.’ Sitting on the stool - only then he realized he hadn’t even brought his own stool - he spent a few moments readying himself, before he announced to his audience: ‘Shan Zha Shu - Hawthorn Tree’, a Russian song well known in China, in his intent to entertain his elder friend. In the middle of playing, he glimpsed a passer-by pausing to put down a coin. He didn’t raise his head to attend to the people, nor could he concentrate enough on his performance. The flush of nervousness seemed to be still lingering in him; the noise of the street was very distracting. When he finished, he looked at his friend, embarrassedly. ‘Hehe, not very well.’ ‘Oh, young man, that was beautiful,’ his comment seemed honest, rather than flattering. ‘This was the song I sang day and night in my youth.’ ‘Really? But I didn’t feel much into it.’ ‘You played very much like a professional. How many years have you practised it?’ ‘I began the hobby at my university, but haven’t played much since graduation. And for the last two years here I never touched it until just recently, since I made your acquaintance.’ While they were talking, a lady placed a five dollar bill onto the cloth and walked away briskly without looking at them. Bing was surprised. ‘What is it? She gave the money, not because of my music.’ ‘Haha, see, that is the charm of busking; there are many things you could never expect,’ Zhang said indulgently. ‘And you can watch so many people, with different colours, forms and moods and gestures.’ ‘No troubles at all?’ ‘Of course, but nothing major, only when some drunkards or beggars come to bother you. It can be part of the fun and surprise.’ ‘What? Fun?’ ‘I once encountered a ragged drunk man, he shouted at me and spat at my feet, muttering something I couldn’t understand. I was shocked, but not very much scared, because it was late afternoon, still a lot of people in the street. I remained seated, only praying he would go away soon. And after raging out his moments, probably expecting no fun or fight from me, he went away, shouting all his way at other shops.’ ‘How about night time?’ ‘That is riskier,’ he said. ‘I have heard of a number of incidents, that the buskers were bashed and their instruments taken away. For me, only once, a vagabond grabbed all the coins on the cloth.’ ‘Oh, that is terrible.’ ‘Yes, but I rarely busk at night, except on festivities.’ Then, he reminded Bing, ‘Now, play more, let me enjoy.’ … For the rest of the afternoon, Zhang lent out his spot entirely to Bing, who, his confidence gathering, played almost as naturally and comfortably as he had on other performances. The scattering notes and coins on the cloth, as they scooped them up and counted before leaving, totalled thirty-five dollars ten cents. For about three hours of his trial busking, this was about $11 per hour, a rate similar to his job in the restaurant. But this was about music, a kind of entertainment, not the dirty dishes or the unhappy customers or the slacking waitresses he had to bother. It was, indeed, both economically and spiritually, a rather worthy business. Bing had difficulty in his wheedling effort to give the money to Mr. Zhang, who was firm and stern in his refusal. ‘Like you, I am not a beggar,’ he emphasized. Later in the week, on the advice of his friend, Bing went to apply for a busker’s license from the Melbourne City Council with an annual fee of $20, and four days later he became a legitimate, licensed busker of the General Busking Class in designated streets. --End of Chapter 51--- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-7-18 14:17	01640	洋八路 2014-7-18 14:17
转些好玩有趣的文章。最后跟贴：本帖最后由 ANDERXON007 于 2014-7-18 13:16 编辑天涯海角2 发表于 2014-7-17 17:54 有点意思补些秦观的词作。蝶恋花晓日窥轩双燕语，似与佳人。共惜春将暮，屈指艳阳都几许，可无时霎闲风雨。流水落花无问处，只有飞云。冉冉来还去，持酒劝云云且住，凭君碍断春归路。秦观(1049-1100)字少游、太虚，号淮海居士，扬州高邮（今江苏）人。曾任秘书省正字，兼国史院编修官等职。因政治上倾向于旧党，被目为元佑党人，绍圣后累遭贬谪。文辞为苏轼所赏识，是“苏门四学士”之一。工诗词。词多写男女情爱，也颇有感伤身世之作，风格委婉含蓄，清丽雅淡。诗风与词风相近。有《淮海集》、《淮海居士长短句》。《淮海居士长短句》又名《淮海词》。词集名。北宋秦观（号淮海居士）作。三卷。见于《淮海集》中。又朱孝臧《疆村丛书》本，附朱氏所撰校记一卷。明末毛晋汲古阁刊本名《淮海词》，一卷。（同上书）近来作者，皆不及少游。如“斜阳外，寒鸦数点，流水绕孤村”，虽不识字人，亦知是天生好言语也。（晁无咎）子瞻辞胜乎情，耆卿情胜乎辞。辞情相称者，惟少游而已。（蔡伯世）今代词手，惟秦七、黄九耳，唐诸人不迨也。（陈后山）秦词专主情致，而少故实，譬如贫家美女，虽极妍丽丰逸，而终乏富贵态。（李易安）少游词虽婉美，然格力失之弱。（胡元任）秦少游词，体制淡雅，气骨不衰。清丽中不断意脉，咀嚼无滓，久而知味。（张叔夏）观词情韵兼胜，在苏黄之上。流传虽少，要为倚声家一作手。（《四库提要》）秦少游自是作手，近开美成，导其先路；远祖温、韦，取其神不袭其貌，词至是乃一变焉。然变而不失其正，遂令议者不病其变，而转觉有不得不变者。后人动称秦、柳，柳之视秦，为之奴隶而不足者，何可相提并论哉！（陈廷焯《白雨斋词话》） ○四九～一一○○）字少游，又字太虚，高邮人，有“淮海集”。在苏轼苏辙兄弟俩的周围有五位作家，黄庭坚、秦观、张耒、晁补之和陈师道，所谓“苏门”。张耒和晁补之都有诗把这一“门”五口儿描写在一起，仿佛是来了个“合家欢”。不用说，一家人之间也往往分个亲疏厚薄，陈师道就觉得苏轼待秦观比待自己亲热，后人还代他抱不平。这五位诗人并不模仿苏轼的风格，而且除掉陈师道受黄庭坚的影响以外，彼此在创作上各人走各人的路。晁补之的诗最差。只有一点值得提起：宋代对李白虽然推崇，不像对杜甫那样的效法，晁补之和同时的徐积、郭祥正也许是欧阳修、苏轼以后仅有的向李白学习的北宋诗人。徐积甚至说杜甫比起李白来，就像“老骥”去追赶“秋鹰”、“霜鹘”。　秦观的诗内容上比较贫薄，气魄也显得狭小，修词却非常精致；只要看李廌“师友谈记”里记载他讲怎样写律赋的许多话，就知道他对文字的琢磨工夫多少细密，怪不得朋友说他“智巧饾订，只如填词”，又说‘铢两不差，非秤子上秤来，乃算子上算来”。他的诗句“敲点匀净”，常常落于纟韱巧，所以同时人说他“诗如词”、“诗似小词”、“又待入小石调”。后来金国人批评他的诗是“妇人语”、“女郎诗”，其实只是这个意思，而且不一定出于什么“南北之见”。南宋人不也说他的诗“如诗女游春，终伤婉弱”么？“时女游春”的诗境未必不好。艺术之宫是重楼复室、千门万户，决不仅仅是一大间敞厅；不过，这些屋子当然有正有偏，有高有下，决不可能都居正中，都在同一层楼上。 --钱钟书<宋诗选注> 最后发表：ANDERXON007	ANDERXON007 2014-7-6 17:26	71565	ANDERXON007 2014-7-18 13:14
听书听小说的进来最后跟贴： meljohn 发表于 2014-7-17 18:23 懒人听书有《推拿》吗？我是在蜻蜓里下的最后发表：凡戈 ...2	凡戈 2014-6-17 13:55	424874	凡戈 2014-7-17 20:17
请问谁有《why the west rules for now - By Ian Morris》这本书，最后跟贴：如果有想借或者和您买二手，新旧不介意，感谢！最后发表：kjking	kjking 2014-7-15 15:20	01181	kjking 2014-7-15 15:20
世间最美最禅的情歌 -- 仓央嘉措道歌最后跟贴：几个月后回来再读，自有更深的感悟感谢楼主和各位分享最后发表：blackswan ...2	DragonSeven 2013-12-24 14:03	435688	blackswan 2014-7-12 18:02
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(50)天堂之影最后跟贴： Gone 发表于 2014-7-10 18:34 喜读这一章。斌很懂心理学啊。。忘我才能得世界。。瞎子阿炳的故事让人感动。。二泉映月是最优美动人的乐曲 ... 编辑看了这一章，去YouTube 听二泉映月，说很，haunting... 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-7-10 13:31	41693	洋八路 2014-7-10 20:47
【转】陆犯焉识——严歌苓（电影归来改著自该小说）最后跟贴：好像是前年读的这本书，人物和人性的描述非常细腻，不过年青一代的人估计是无法理解的。很想看看电影里陈道明和巩俐的演绎，但是对巩俐，我实在不觉得她能演出彩，总觉得她演的所有人物表情都太木了。最后发表：布鲁克克 ...2	ShuRyanYan 2014-7-2 10:35	313421	布鲁克克 2014-7-10 19:45
中国历史上最高水平的36首诗（下）最后跟贴：好诗最后发表：Angie	lwljan 2014-2-27 18:27	82127	Angie 2014-7-7 13:58
有人读过李异的中央警卫吗？最后跟贴：Rt 最后发表：求人真难啊	求人真难啊 2014-7-6 17:20	01092	求人真难啊 2014-7-6 17:20

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